


To Bring a New Era

by Fallingtowardsoblivion



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Damien (TV), Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Antichrist Arthur, Dark Arthur, Dark Merlin, Demon Merlin, Drunk Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Fake Character Death, Fighting, HC April Fill, Heartbreak, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nice Arthur turned dark, Planet Destruction, Sacrifice, Yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtowardsoblivion/pseuds/Fallingtowardsoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding out that Arthur is in fact the antichrist, Merlin is assigned as his personal protection. </p><p>Or at least that's what Arthur thinks. </p><p>For April H/C bingo. Prompt: include 2 fandoms, fighting, planet destruction, sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Bring a New Era

**Author's Note:**

> I almost didn't finish this. But then narlth kept bugging me about it. (Rude). 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so sorry for any mistakes!

**T-minus 1 year, 10 months, 1 day**

“You have got to be kidding me… This isn't funny anymore, none of it is.”

“Well that’s good, because it isn't supposed to be, _Damien_.” Merlin said, his voice as cold as his eyes – rock hard, steely, unwavering and far too knowing for Arthur’s liking.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” Arthur exclaimed, exasperated, finally leaning back against his work table, hands gripping at his hair. _Exhausted_. The fight drained out of him, a visible deflation.

Merlin watched the man – creature – before him, eyes taking in the shuddered breaths and shaking shoulders. The antichrist wasn’t crying, but quite close.

Merlin bit the bottom of his lip, face betraying a level of uncertainty that he would’ve gotten beaten for back in the pit. This wasn’t what he had expected, it wasn’t what Merlin had wanted. This wasn’t a man ready to destroy the world, rebuilding it in his father’s glory.

 _Hell_.

“Alright,” Merlin’s voice was softer now, sympathetic, or maybe just the voice one would use with a startled, restless animal. “Alright. I won’t call you Damien. But _please_ , _Arthur_ , don’t make me force my services on you.”

Arthur paused, face buried in his palms. A moment, then two, then an eternity seemed to pass before he finally looked up. “Your – your services?”

Merlin nodded, not looking at Arthur, instead crossing his arms and letting his eyes wander across the interior of the darkened apartment. “I was sent here. I told you. My job is to protect you – to make sure you stay alive long enough to fulfill your destiny.”

Arthur snorted at this. “ _Only_ long enough to fulfill my destiny? _Only_? I’m just a fucking pawn, aren’t I? Just set on the chess table, waiting to get knocked over. And what about you,” his voice was raising, the anger Merlin had encountered earlier flaring back up. “What about you? What are you getting from this? Money? A pat on the back? Huh? You're not even _human_ , are you?!” Arthur shouted, straightening, puffing out once again.

Merlin looked at him, staring him down, face impassive. “Is that really a concern of yours?” His voice was icy once more. It needed to be, if he was going to pull this off. If he was going to be able to prepare Damien properly.

“A concern? Of mine?” Arthur gaped. “No shit it is! A – a fucking _demon_ is standing here saying he wants to stick around until I decide to up and destroy the world. And I mean my father isn't even – even human? Everyone is following me and people are trying to kill me and everyone expects something from me right now and I just –“ Arthur’s voice broke off, turning into sobs.

Merlin watched as the man before him broke down. The demon’s face was closed, but for a moment his eyes flared up, turning that tell-tale golden hue. It was an accidental slip, due to his excitement by such progress this early on.

So Arthur sobbed, breaking down, burying his head in his hands, shoulders heaving and voice cracking. So Merlin watched him, never faltering, never offering a hand, never looking away.

Arthur broke down. But now – now they could begin to rebuild.

Merlin smiled faintly.

***

**T-minus 1 year, 9 months, 6 days**

 “Is this really necessary?” Arthur said, a little frown of distaste turning down the edges of his mouth.

Merlin snorted, running a thumb over the gash on his palm, sealing it so that only a faint scar would remain. “Of course it is necessary, Damien –“

“Don’t _call_ me that!”

“ – _because_ you must be properly protected.” Merlin continued, ignoring Arthur’s noise of protest. “I will be damned if a golden boy like you ended up _dying_ from a little technicality like _poisoning_ or the _flu_ because no one bothered to give you a simple protection spell.”

Arthur sighed, watching as the demon gave a wry smile, not looking up from his mixing. His blood was a darker shade than humanly acceptable, blackish and viscous. It mixed easily enough as Merlin added more ingredients, seemingly unbothered by the dark magic he was currently dabbling it.

He mixed the ingredients around him, sprinkling and whipping and folding the paste with a practiced ease.

A _familiar_ ease.

Arthur rested him chin on his palm, sipping absentmindedly on a coffee. Faintly, he wondered where the demon had learned such traits. Maybe it was just inherent.

For some reason though, as the antichrist watched Merlin magick, concentration causing a small crease to mar his brow, he got a sinking feeling that that wasn’t the case.

That there was more to Merlin than met the eye.

***

**T-minus 1 year, 1 month, 19 days**

It happened too quickly for Arthur to understand, for anything to really register. One minute he was walking along the side of the street, vaguely listening to Merlin’s surprisingly chipper chattering (which, despite his continual complaints, was actually somewhat entertaining). The next, he was flying through the air, coming into too-close contact with the brick wall four feet to his right.

The midday street erupted into a cacophony of noises. Shouting, crackling, crashing all reached Arthur through muffled, cottony ears. His head hurt, everything was spinning, and those chips for lunch were trying their damnedest to claw back up his throat.

But then there was another series of crashes, this time resounding even through the fog mucking up Arthur’s brain.

He opened his eyes.

The world was side-ways, and Arthur vaguely recognized it was him that was off-kilter. Moving an arm, he tried to prop himself up, managing only minimal success.

In the middle of the street, back to Arthur, was none other than Merlin. A wind whipped the demon’s hair in all directions, creating a halo around his head. Arthur probably would’ve stopped to appreciate the view – after all, soulless or not, Merlin had the backside of a twink-god. But he was too preoccupied at the moment, actually, by the way _said_ twink-god was _tossing cars through the air_.

Powerful demon, indeed.

Arthur swallowed, staring in awe as Merlin duked it out with their attackers (no – _Arthur’s_ attackers) in broad daylight, defying all laws of logic and nature in the process.

Arthur sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself, trying to right himself. But he was too preoccupied, watching as Merlin slid his feet, motioned with his hands, threw out his arms. 

_It was beautiful._

It was beautiful and it was raw and it was Merlin. Arthur was caught, entrapped in the allure – the raw, unimpeded power before him.

Soon – too soon – it was over. Merlin turned then, the street in shambles behind him, any enemies mere smears on the pavement, eyes still faintly buzzing with the golden power thrumming through his veins.

Arthur swallowed, finally conscious of himself again. He eased himself up into a sitting position, eyes never leaving Merlin’s. They were locked, the world outside of them nonexistent, the gasps and screams and sobs and distant sirens all fading into a cacophony, distant and muted and mere background noise.

Merlin lingered for a moment. But then the moment passed, and he was moving, walking, rushing forward to Arthur, face betraying worry; the concern so strange on such an inhuman being.

“Arthur…” He breathed, kneeling next to the man in question and cradling his face in bloody hands. Arthur didn’t even mind the gore, though, for some reason too preoccupied thinking about the warmth of those fingers, the way Merlin mouthed his name and seemed to only have eyes for him, faintly running fingers through hair and over fabric, checking for injuries –

Arthur swallowed, breaking their eye contact. Looking away.

“We should go.” Arthur’s voice was gruff, and he excused it as the dust and trauma and blood seeping from a possible concussion on the side of his forehead, and not because Merlin was – was so _close_.

Merlin swallowed too, then, seeming to regain his composure. And god, Arthur had never thought a demon would need to regain its composure?

But then Merlin was there again, this time easing Arthur to his feet, leading him away from the battlefield of a street, picking their way through gaping pedestrians and mangled cars.

The whole time, Arthur kept his eyes resolutely on the ground, and his thoughts resolutely off of _Merlin_.

***

**T-minus 0 years, 11 months, 24 days**

Arthur was drunk when he came back to the apartment. Drunk, stumbling and giggling, totally forgetting for a moment the whole reason he was in such an inebriated state, forgetting that he had managed to somehow – somehow – give Merlin the slip while weaving through that evening’s traffic, had stopped into a bar and ordered one shot then another then another then another.

 How he had decided a wonderful, beautiful way to deal with his problems was with _alcohol_.

Alcohol didn’t expect anything from him, after all.

Alcohol didn’t expect _bad_ things from him.

But then Merlin was standing in the middle of the room, eye glowing that gorgeous, terrifying shade of gold, a tell-tale sign of his agitation.

And then Arthur remembered that ah – _yes_.

Merlin was pissed.

“Where were you?” It was dark, low, almost growled.

“Erm,” Arthur began, quite intelligently, wobbling while standing still, leaning on a nearby piece of furniture in order to stay upright. Alright, maybe he was a bit more than buzzed.

“You’re drunk,” Merlin hissed, taking a step towards Arthur, then another and another and then he was far too close and Arthur probably should’ve been terrified of the demon in his face but instead he cracked a grin, chuckling a bit.

“And if I am? Hmm?”

“I _know_ you are.”

“Well I know you are…” Arthur trailed off, trying to find the word.

“This is absurd, Damien! I cannot _believe_ you! You’re the son of Lucifer, you can’t just be wandering off in a crowd – _fuck_!” Merlin yelled, turning away from Arthur at the last minute.

“Why not? Eh? Why shouldn’t I be wandering off,” Arthur said, petulantly and rebellious. His mood changed, he was mad too, now.  Drunk and mad and hurt and agitated. He needed another shot.  Or maybe a good fuck.

“Because! You have a _destiny_! You must be protected!” Merlin exclaimed, knotting his hands in his hair out of frustration. “And I cannot protect you if you’re out drinking and doing hell-knows!”

“Fuck my destiny,” Arthur scowled, locking eyes with Merlin as the demon turned around once more. “Why do you even care! You’re a fucking devil!”

“ _Because I love you!”_  It was out before either man realized it.

Arthur stopped dead, as did Merlin. He swallowed, suddenly feeling sober – very sober. He dared a look at Merlin, whose eyes were wide, no longer golden.

“What… did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Merlin whispered, his voice flat with emotion.

“No, you said… you said you _loved_ …” Arthur choked out, and god he was getting choked up over _this_?

“Forget it, Damien,” Merlin said darkly, closing down. Turning to move away from Arthur.

Like hell Arthur would let him. Not after a statement like _that_.

Before he knew it, Arthur was grabbing Merlin’s bicep, whirling him around.  Merlin began to say something, to exclaim or scold, but then any words about to leave his mouth were being swallowed up by Arthur’s lips on his, and they were kissing and –

And oh god, they were _kissing_.

Merlin was still for only a moment. Then he was there, matching Arthur as their lips moved awkward and drunken and beautifully, hands knotting in hair. And then Arthur was moaning a bit, softly, as Merlin opened his mouth, drawing Arthur’s tongue in.

Soon enough, Arthur was being walked backwards, the back of his legs hitting the couch before he knew it. Merlin was there, hot body pressing down on him, straddling him.

Arthur couldn't help it. He let out a moan. Merlin’s lips were soft on him, his hands roaming up and down his chest, snaking under his shirt and feeling along his stomach, ribs, chest.

Arthur moaned as Merlin moved down to his neck, biting and sucking even as his finger began to work on one Arthur’s nipples. Arthur moaned again, trying to drunkenly unbutton Merlin’s shirt and failing spectacularly.

Merlin pulled back, grinning wickedly down at Arthur’s wrecked state. Then he leaned forward, pressing their crotches together. Arthur gasped, groaning.

“Fuck, Merlin…” He hissed, groaning again as Merlin began to grind on him.

“You like that, do you?” Merlin teased. Arthur nodded desperately, fingers forgetting Merlin’s buttons and instead grabbing onto the demon’s hips, hard.

“Shit – shit, oh –“ Arthur closed his eyes. He felt embarrassingly close. Merlin seemed to sense this too, pulling back abruptly.

Arthur groaned for an entirely differently, much more annoyed reason. He opened his eyes, blinking a couple times, bleary, just in time to see Merlin pulling off his shirt and pulling down his pants.

Then Merlin was there, on top of him, a comfortable weight on his thighs, pulling up Arthur’s shirt as well, leaning forward and taking his nipple in his mouth, and Arthur was losing track of himself and time and everything and suddenly his was naked, and Merlin was above him again, eyes golden and hands pressing –

And then Arthur was groaning, the world spinning as he felt himself being pressed into something warm and tight and it was Merlin –

Arthur gasped when he came, looking up with the briefest moment of clarity to see Merlin riding him, head thrown back and hand stroking his own cock. But then the cloud of alcohol (and really, he hadn’t realized he’d drunken so much) once again descended.

 

The next thing Arthur knew, he was waking up the next morning, arm wrapped tightly around Merlin.

From that point forward, everything changed.

***

**T-minus 0 years, 1 month, 7 days**

Merlin eyed him warily, not really certain how to play this particular act. Arthur’s face was impassive, the book snapping shut with a soft smack.

It was a small book, worn and aged. A journal, specifically, from when Merlin had been… From before he’d become a demon. He’d left it out accidentally (perfectly placed so that Arthur would spy it, and just hidden enough so it would pique his interest). It was a piece of the puzzle – one of the last, and perfect for this moment.

Perfect for what needed to be done.

Arthur looked up then, face half lit in the glow of the desk lamp.

“You were him. The sorcerer who wrote this.”

It was a soft declaration. No anger, or betrayal. Good. This would be easier to cope with, to go along with.

Merlin gave a self-depreciating sort of smile, nodding his head a bit. “I was him.”

Arthur nodded then, setting the book aside and putting his hand on his mouth, not really certain of where to look except certainly not at Merlin.

“So you were more than this, at one time. You became what you are now. But you were a man, once.”

Merlin nodded again, faintly wanting to rise to the bait, faintly pushing down that urge. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper. Not now, not when they were so close to their goal.

This moment, it would make or break Damien’s creation, his rebirth. It would seal the date, or destroy it.

“Do you make a habit of reading other people’s diaries, then?” Merlin smirked a bit at this, deciding that a safe, easy route would be humor. Snark. A bit of sarcasm and embarrassment.

Arthur scoffed, the weight hanging in the air lifting some. “I make a habit of flipping through odd, ancient books laying around, is what I do.”

“Fair enough.”

Arthur eyed Merlin, looking as though he wanted to say more. As though he needed to get something off his chest.

Merlin didn’t really want to hear it. He hadn’t shared such secrets for many, many centuries. But he would do it, for this purpose he would deal with the pity and possible disgust. If only for the greater good.

It was for Damien, after all.

It was all for Damien.

Thankfully, Arthur seemed to shake himself from his daze, finally resolving to keep silent. And Merlin knew he would, could tell it in his body language, the way he was sealing his emotions away carefully, in the way only a man who has seen the horrors of the world and war and death could.

They wouldn’t stay sealed, of course. Nothing ever could.

But for now, they were settled. Left to stew and soak and churn, subconsciously leading Arthur towards a decision, towards a trust.

Towards _the_ decision.

And Merlin? Well, Merlin could wait. He had waited, after all, hundreds of years.

A couple more months would be fine.

***

**T-minus 0 years, 0 months, 0 days**

 

Merlin looked at him, looking through him, eyes as sharp and blue and _knowing_ as ever. "Take care of yourself when I'm gone, yeah?" His touch was light, blood spattered fingers softly tilting Arthur's head up to meet Merlin's eyes.

Arthur bit his bottom lip, circling fingers around a bony wrist. "I can't let this happen, Merlin. I - I really just..." The words caught in his throat, too stubborn to be voiced out loud.

Merlin's face softened at this. He sighed, licking chapped lips. "I know, Arthur. I know."

And what else was there to say? Arthur felt glued in place, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. Merlin leaned in, caressing the hair out of his eyes, murmuring something in that strange language of angels and demons. He leaned in, planting a soft kiss to Arthur's own parted lips.

When the demon pulled back, his eyes were golden.

"You bastard..." Arthur breathed, trying suddenly to fight against the magic holding him in place. Merlin wasn't going to take no for an answer.

He never did.

Arthur cried, then, sobbing as he watched Merlin leave – sacrificing himself for Arthur, for the altar needed a body, it needed blood, and though _They_ had intended to open hell with Arthur’s blood, Merlin’s would do just fine.

“You fucking bastard! Merlin! I – I love you!” Arthur choked out, yelling over the rising gale, making the man before him pause in his motion, staying crouched down in front of him.

Merlin looked at Arthur then, and the demon's face softened. He dared one last touch, eyes still ablaze, wiping the tears streaming down Arthur's face aside.

Both were silent.

And then Merlin was up, limping back to the altar, and the portal leading behind it. Turning, Merlin looked back one last time. But the moment was fleeting, and soon enough he was gone.

Arthur never saw him again.

 

***

**Year 1 of the New Era**

 

Born in a baptism of blood, Arthur had been alone.

Now, rising from the wreckage of humanity's ruins, Arthur was once again by himself. It seemed that fate was a cruel mistress. That Damien was a lonely name, and the title of Devil's Child was a suffering one.

Arthur had raged. Losing Merlin had snapped the last bit of humanity within the antichrist, leaving only the anger and sorrow to fill his empty chest. Merlin had been _his_ – he had been _everything_ to Arthur, an anchor in the storm of his life.

And now he was gone.

Arthur had fought, then.

When the magic holding him stationary released, Arthur had jumped up, power he hadn't known was within him welling up and exploding out.

Yet the murder of his father’s followers – the fools who had dared think spilling his blood (who were responsible for spilling Merlin’s) – did little to naught.

 It did not bring Merlin back.

So Arthur fought more, going through whoever he needed in order to fill the void within him, to stop the pain of his broken heart.

Soon enough, the rest was history.

 

***

 

**Year 15, New Era**

 

Arthur woke up, reluctant to leave his bed, his head feeling like it had been used as a punching bag. But the automatic curtains in his penthouse had other ideas, sliding up to reveal the dull, vast skyline of New York City.

Arthur sighed, finding it useless to stay in bed.

He got read with quick efficiency, his body moving on sheer muscle memory by now. Running out the door, he popped a couple painkillers for his hangover, grimacing as his chauffeur opened the car door for him.

The drive to his office was short. When Arthur got out, he was greeted by his assistant. Arthur was in no mood for his prattle. But of course, he never was nowadays.

“Good morning, Mr. Thorn. You have two meetings today, including one with the Russo-Chinese leaders in order to discuss their terms of surrender. They’re asking to be able to retain Siberia, as well as fishing rights –“

“No,” Arthur cut off, turning to face his secretary, making him flinch. “They surrender everything or we bomb them.”

“But – but sir,” George stuttered, “Europe and South Africa were already rendered uninhabitable because of that… do you really think we should also nuke –“

“Who is the leader?” Arthur growled out, crowding into George’s face in a way that intimidated him, making him squeak.

“You, sir.”

“Then why are you questioning my decisions?” Arthur hissed.

George visibly swallowed, paling further. “My apologies, sir. I was speaking out of turn. Sir.”

Arthur nodded, letting it go. He turned around, and the pair once again began to walk. George trailed behind him, and Arthur ignored the man’s hurried steps as he stormed into his office. 

“Oh – sir – wait! That other meeting, I really think you need to be properly informed before you  go in there –“ 

But Arthur had already stopped dead in his tracks, George nearly bumping into him. 

Because there, in Arthur’s chair, was a man. Familiar, angular, wearing the faintest of smirks.

“Merlin…” Arthur breathed out, suddenly feeling a punch of emotions he had almost forgotten existed, right in the gut.

“Good to see you Damien,” Merlin said, leaning forward in the chair behind the desk – Arthur’s chair. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I really liked the idea of a manipulative Merlin in this? idk why. Probably because I'm sad and need to write angst. Yeah anyway, I hope this wasn't too choppy? Thanks for reading!


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